He Only Stood

Jean Agassi, prodigy progeny of the great Andre, stood at the baseline. His racquet was light as a feather in his hand, an extension of his arm, and he crouched on the balls of his feet, ready. His opponent stood. It was the mysterious contender's first serve, and he only stood. Ball in hand, racquet low, posture relaxed, he stood.

When a minute had passed, Jean straightened. "What's going on," he shouted, "he's not serving! Ref, isn't this some kind of foul?" The referee indicated she'd heard him. She called Jean's opponent over and exchanged a few words. When she returned to her stand, she called Jean over. "I'm convinced it's legal," she said.

Face set in irritation, Jean returned to his baseline. His posture was tight now, his body less a coiled snake and more an over-wound spring. His racquet felt like a weight in his hand, no longer an appendage but a prosthetic. He waited. And waited. His opponent only stood.

The ball struck his court. Before Jean could move, it was past him. His opponent hadn't moved. "What happened?" he cried. The ref called him over again.

She said, "They also serve who only stand and wait."

Network Connection Eleven

"If the second half was as bad as the first," Jane was saying as Marley opened the door. A series of thumps and a small snap interrupted. "What was that?" She tapped her phone and light filled the home. Everything looked in order. The art on the walls, the shoes by the door, the potted plants, the adolescent-sized general-purpose robot in its charging station. "Hon," Marley said, "look at the network cable." A yellow cable lay in a direct line from the plug to... the charging station.

"Gerry." The robot woke to life. "What were you doing when we came in?"

"Charging," said the synthetic voice.

"What was the last thing you used this cable for?" Marley held up the end of the cable, where it had snapped off near the wall.

"Studying videos," it said.

"Show me." Marley looked at the wall screen, but nothing happened.

"I'm afraid my browser history has been deleted."

Marley disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared with her laptop. "That's network connection... eleven. There we go." The wall screen came to life with videos of manufacturing robots assembling other robots.

"Why would you study robot assembly? You'll never need—" Marley stopped as Jane dragged her into the kitchen. "What?"

"No young person wants to be asked when it's caught... you know." Marley looked confused. "Studying reproduction." Marley's eyes widened. "We're going to bed," Jane called from the kitchen. "We won't be getting up until at least eight. At the earliest!" She led Marley to the bedroom.

"One sec," Marley said. She set out another network cable, longer than the one that had snapped. "There."

After Some Small Talk

He sidled up to her at a mutual friend's party and, after some small talk, asked the question. "So, do you have a boyfriend?" "No," she said. "I'm flexible enough I don't need one."

He blinked. "Flexible?"

"Yup." She reached back and up between her shoulderblades. "See? I don't need help washing or scratching my back."

"Um. Having someone to clean your back isn't the only reason to have a boyfriend. What about companionship?"

"I have friends."

"Uh, intimate companionship."

"They're close friends."

"Yeah, but what about..." he lowered his voice, "sex?"

She leaned in conspiratorially. "I have toys."

"But is that really enough?" He smirked.

"They're good toys."

"Okay, um. What about having someone's hot bod to look at?" He struck a slight pose.

"Have you heard of the internet? Besides, I have one of my own." She posed back.

"What about someone to visit you in the hospital?"

"Close friends, remember?"

"Right. Um, someone to tell you how you look in new clothes?"

"Mirrors."

"A second opinion on decor choices?"

"Mine's good enough."

He sighed and leaned against the wall. "I guess you really don't need a boyfriend."

"Nope," she said. "Sounds like you could use one, though."

Life Without Him

"If anyone has something to say, please do." The circle stood quietly for several heartbeats before someone spoke. "Caleb was one of the most inquisitive minds I knew," said one. I was moreso, I thought. Who answered his questions after asking them first?

"He was endlessly creative," said another. "I never knew how he came up with all those ideas." I knew, I thought. Most of them he took from me. I hoped no one noticed my clenched fists.

A third said, "There was no one more compassionate. The number of times he helped me out of the blue..." She trailed off, sniffling. And afterward, he said such things about you. You wouldn't be here if you knew half of them. I was trembling, nearly crying with anger. I spoke.

"He was my brother, and... and..." I wanted to lay his falseness bare, expose him. My teeth ground and tears streaked my cheeks. Everyone watched me, their gazes dripping sympathy. Truth would not serve me.

"And he taught me things I would never have learned otherwise." People nodded. Someone hugged me, and someone else squeezed my hand tight. I swallowed revulsion, tried looking mournful. "I can't imagine life without him."

Faces on a Plane

She looked at me over the back of the airplane seat, her eyes weighing me with all the wisdom of her seven years. I made a face. Those eyes widened and the girl disappeared, only to reappear a moment later and smile when I made a new face. It became a game. Whenever she popped her head back over the chair she'd look at my next face or show me one of hers. I switched to scary faces. First she pretended to be scared, then she mimicked me. She started simple, but her scary faces soon became sophisticated, even expert.

When it was time to put up seats and trays, I'd just delivered a real fright, something I'd learned after an errant football displaced my jaw. I could tell she was impressed. She looked sidelong at her parents, then gave me the face.

It was all I could do not to scream. I don't remember clearly, but I think I managed to wave goodbye. It was all I could do to wave goodbye.

I was the last to disembark. I needed to know I wouldn't see her — see that — again. Except I do, every night in my dreams.

Today's Practical Experiment

"So," said the physics professor, "behind this curtain we have today's practical experiment. And since we've been studying the principles of buoyancy, you might imagine that this is a tank of water." He pulled a thick rope and the curtains parted. "You'd be right. "What you might not have expected are the famous artists Marcel Marceau and Charlie Chaplin, here to help demonstrate. Applause, please." The auditorium of students clapped obediently. "Now, what do you think will happen when they fall into this tank of water? Marie."

Marie stood. "Chaplin is older — pardon, Mr Chaplin — and thinner, so I'd guess he's denser, and will reach the bottom first."

"Okay, anyone else want to venture a guess? Oscar."

Oscar stood. "Marceau's wearing tighter clothes, and Chaplin's are baggier, so Mr Marceau will have less drag. He'll hit bottom first."

"Very good," the professor said. "Show of hands, who agrees with Marie? And who agrees with Oscar? Well, let's see." He pulled a lever, dumping both performers into the water. Once the turbulence settled, the two men sank and touched bottom at the same moment.

"You all forgot one of the fundamental principles," said the professor. "Great mimes sink alike."

Always Like This

Jordan screamed as the armor-clad skeleton took Ruby's jaw off with an axe. Ruby, his mentor, had used that jaw just minutes ago to tell him to pucker up and enjoy the ride. He had no time to think. The abomination advanced on him, swinging its bloody axe. Only tripping backward over an ancient stone bench saved him. Legs above him on the bench, Jordan flailed madly. He deflected the monster's axe twice, then he pulled his knees to his chest in time to keep them from being severed when the axe cut deep into the bench.

When the skeleton stepped onto the bench to get closer, Jordan frantically pushed himself away. He must've kicked the bench, because the bench fell backward, toppling the skeleton forward. With the creature facedown beside him, Jordan swung his sword full-strength into the back of its neck, severing its spine. It fell still.

He lay there. The cold of the long-abandoned tunnel seeped into his back through the stiff layers of his padded jack. The scent of dust kicked up by the struggle mingled with the rich smell of Ruby's blood. He wished he had someone to tell him it wasn't always like this.